


A Way Back Home

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Past Lives, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written between December 2013 and March 2015 for Motorskink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Monaco, 2013**  
_Rob gave a nervous smile as a Sky runner attached the microphone to the lapel of his shirt._

_"Going to feel a bit weird, this," he said, looking over at Felipe, who seemed slightly more relaxed._

_"You'll be great!" Simon Lazenby shouted from a short distance away. "Just have a casual chat, guys – don't think of it as an interview. We'll prompt you with the questions first, then get along to the quiz we have lined up for the pair of you."_

_Rob cocked his head to one side, grinning._

_"Ah, now that I'm NOT nervous about."_

_Felipe tutted and rolled his eyes, fiddling with the collar of his Ferrari shirt._

_"Yeah, yeah. Can we get on with this?"_

 

 **Middlesbrough, England, 1489**  
"Shall I get one of the monks?" 

Anna shook her head, and clasped her sister's hand tightly. Her red hair was stuck to her forehead and cheeks with sweat, and her bottom lip was red from where she had been biting on it. Anything to ease the horrific pain.

"Please don't leave me, Elizabeth! Please stay with me!"

"I will stay, I will stay," came the soothing voice of her sister.

Elizabeth knelt down beside her sibling, and winced at the coldness of the stone floor of their small cottage. The Benedictine monks of the nearby Priory would offer comfort, if not much medical help, but Anna had pleaded with her not to leave her side, and she would honour that.

"It hurts," Anna cried, hitching her filthy dress up further. Tonight, if she survived, the pigs would still need to be fed, and the pails of water fetched, but for now, she had a baby that was wanting to escape from her belly. He was already over a week late.  
And it would just be him and her now. The baby's father had been dead this six months past, taken by the sweating sickness. Half the village had fallen foul of it, even she and Elizabeth's own parents.

"Push," Elizabeth pleaded, holding a damp piece of linen against her sister's forehead. Normally, the sight of blood make her feel sick; she associated it mainly with the slaughter of their pigs for meat, but today the adrenalin surged through her veins. She and Anna were all one another had now, and they had to do this together. Outside of their cottage, the rain came down in torrents, and the sky was rapidly blackening.

"I can see the head!" she exclaimed, as Anna stretched her legs further apart and pushed. Her face was purple with the exertion, and her screams must have been audible in the next village.

The clip-clop of hooves, and muffled voices momentarily took Elizabeth's attention, and she looked outside to see Richard, the stable boy from the farm down the path.

"Miss! Miss! I brought the old lady."

Elizabeth saw the boy's face recoil in horror at the scene before him. The head was crowning now, and he scurried out as quickly as he had come in.

The local wise woman, haggard and stooped over, approached as quickly as her thin, arthritic body would allow her. She wore a black hooded cloak, and nodded reassuringly. 

"Keep doing as you are doing, lass. The baby will be here soon. The first one, at the very least."

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat.

"The first one?"

The old woman looked at her. Her face was heavily lined and liver-spotted.

"Aye. There's two babies in there, mark my words."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out some herbs, motioning to the pot that was on the fire.

"Is there hot water in that? I shall brew her up a tea with these. They'll help with the cramping."

"Yes, yes. Do whatever you think is right."

The crone shuffled over to the bubbling pot, grabbing a tankard and filling it with water and some of the herbs. Elizabeth could smell the pungent aroma, and her stomach lurched.

Anna gave another long groan, and the baby slid out of her. Elizabeth cried out with relief and shock, and immediately wrapped the boy in some cloth.

"Red hair, just like you, Anna!" she laughed, counting the child's wrinkled little fingers and cleaning his head gently. She moved the cloth away. "A red-haired boy, no less."

Anna sighed, letting her head drop backwards.

"I knew it would be a boy," she whispered. Her eyelids started to drop. "I need to rest. Let me hold him for a moment, then let me sleep, please."

"No sleep for a while yet," the old woman said, bending down and making Anna take a sip of her medicine. "You have another one to birth."

Anna shook her head, tears starting to fall and streak her already wet face.

"No, no. I can't... I... "

She was hit by another pain, and she felt the whole process starting again. But this felt... different. Sharper, more stabbing pains wracked her body, like the little one was more stubborn; like the little one just did not want to do what he was told.

"Elizabeth, help me!" she gasped, as everything went black.

*

Anna blinked. She could feel how her dress was soaked with cold sweat, and she shivered. She winced at the pain between her legs, and opened her eyes as much as the brightness of the room would allow. She was in her own bed, and as things came into focus, she saw Elizabeth sitting beside her on a chair, her face wan and strained.

"The babies... "

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Both gone. The priest will be here tonight."

"Twins," Anna said weakly. "I didn't know it was twins."

The door creaked and the old woman entered the room, wiping her hands with a cloth.

"Weren't identical, my love. The second had dark hair like his father."

She placed a hand on Anna's shoulder.

"Don't fret. They just weren't meant to be here this time around. They're together – they'll find each other somewhere else down the line, you mark my words."

 

 **Early 2003**  
"Okay then, in you pop."

Felipe paused, scratching his thigh awkwardly as he stood at the side of the yellow car. He glanced over at Eddie Jordan, who was focused on the notes he was holding in his hand. He pointed at the seat.

"You want me to get in?"

"Yes," the engineer replied, with a confused look on his face. "That's what I meant by 'in you pop'." He stuck a pen in his mouth, his teeth clamping down onto the end of it as he watched Felipe put one foot inside the car.

"And I just sit down?"

The engineer's eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow.

"Well... yeah. You sort of need to sit down for a seat fitting."

"Sorry," Felipe said quietly, and the other man's face softened. He was older than Felipe was, maybe not by much though – he was 28 or 29, perhaps. He had a pale face that hovered somewhere between handsome and chubby; auburn hair that had no discernable style and clashed with his bright yellow t-shirt, and an accent the like of which Felipe had never heard before, and could only just about understand. 

Felipe put his other foot inside the cockpit and the engineer took his pen out of his mouth and stuck it behind his ear as he approached. He gestured toward the seat.

"Now if you just... "

He stopped speaking as Eddie Jordan joined them.

"Felipe, I suppose I should have introduced you to Rob here. He's going to be doing your seat fitting for you."

"Yeah, we'd kind of established that, Eddie," Rob replied drily, and he glanced quickly at Felipe, his mouth twitching slightly at the side.

Felipe smiled and nodded, being as polite as he could to the boss. He was the one who'd decide if he was going to be driving for Jordan, after all.

"Ha ha," Eddie snapped back. "Rob, this is Felipe Massa, he was... "

"I _know_ who he is," Rob interrupted. "I told _you_ about him, didn't I."

Felipe turned quickly towards Rob.

"You told Eddie about _me_?" he asked, as Eddie walked away again. 

Rob motioned for Felipe to sit down inside the car, but he gave a short nod.

"I did, yeah."

Felipe sat back against the seating mould, looking up at the older man.

"So we met properly before? I thought that I had seen your face when I looked at you earlier, you know?" Felipe made a circular motion around his face with his hand.

"No, no," Rob shook his head. "We've not met before. I've known about you since you were in Formula 3000, that's all. I told Eddie to keep an eye out for you in the future."

Felipe's brow furrowed. He was getting a weird sense of... what was it called when you felt like something had happened before? He couldn't remember the term, but as Rob leant into the car to help him get comfortable, something in the back of his mind seemed to creep to the front. Something like - something like remembering a dream he'd had.

He held his breath as Rob leant over further. His face was close and Felipe didn't feel entirely comfortable. He was too warm, slightly dizzy, too. He told himself to stop being silly. It had been a long day, a big day for him, and that was no doubt contributing to the slight lightheadedness he was feeling.

"Press back a bit more against the seat," Rob instructed, bending over right into the cockpit and placing a hand on each of Felipe's shoulders, pushing him gently back against the mould. Felipe felt the warmth of Rob's hands through his race suit, and he wondered how someone's hands could feel so hot through layers of thick material. It felt like when the sun in his native Brazil beat down onto his bare skin.

Suddenly, Rob snatched his hands away. His eyes locked with Felipe's for a fleeting second, and they were widened; the whites fully visible. He backed away from the car.

"S... sorry," Rob stuttered. "I'm not feeling very well."

Felipe remained in the car, watching as Rob walked out of the garage and stood at the side of the entrace, his body doubled over and his hands on his thighs. From the cockpit, Felipe could see Rob taking a few deep breaths, exhaling so heavily that plumes of his breath were visible in the winter air.

"Are you alright?" Felipe called out, and Rob held his palm upwards.

"Just... stay where you are. You don't... don't need to come near me."

Rob slowly stood up, swallowing several times in order to lessen the threat of vomiting. There was a prickle of sweat at the back of his neck and in the small of his back, and he could sense that if he looked into a mirror right now, a pale, greasy reflection would stare back at him. He told himself that he must have eaten something dodgy, or perhaps was getting a bad dose of 'flu. Funny, he'd felt absolutely fine this morning, and he'd felt alright when he'd gotten to work too. It had come over him so quickly – as soon as he'd started helping that kid get comfortable in the car...

He looked into the garage. Felipe was still sitting in the Jordan, dark eyes staring back at him. There was a puzzled expression on his face and Rob suddenly realised that Felipe didn't know if he was allowed to get out of the car or not. He was 21, but he seemed younger. Although he came across as a nice, down to earth boy, Rob reflected. Not like some of the arrogant hot shots that swaggered in and out of the paddock these days, thinking they were God's gift. Felipe seemed more humble, more willing to learn. 

Rob moved back into the garage and found a bottle of water. After a few swigs he felt sufficiently able to get back to work.

"Now, the seat fitting."

"Are you okay?" Felipe asked. 

"I'm not sure, to be honest," Rob replied with a nervous laugh, placing a hand on the engine cover to steady himself. "But don't worry, I know you'll be wanting to get this seat sorted out as soon as possible."

Felipe wrinkled his nose and gave a shrug.

"Your health is more important, I think. We don't have to finish, is better that you make sure you are well."

Rob's smile was genuine as he thanked Felipe.

"Not like one of you lot to be so selfless," he laughed. "You sure you're a racing driver?"

Felipe gave a croaky laugh, and suddenly Rob didn't feel the slightest bit ill.

"Maybe you were right," he considered, biting his bottom lip. "Maybe we _have_ met before."

 

 **Mogyoród, Hungary, 1762**  
The noise of hooves clip-clopping their way around the cobbled street as the horse traders showed off their livestock was almost deafening, adding to the yells of the crowd as they asked _'how much?'_ , _'what age?'_ and _'is it broken in?'_

Mariusz pulled his granddaughter closer to his side. At 10 she was perhaps scared at the noise, the crowd, the smells; but if she was, she showed no signs of it. He looked down at her, her head pressed tightly against his waist, small hands clasped around the bottom of his black waistcoat, and blue eyes grown large with wonder.

"Are you frightened, Szandra?"

She looked up at him, shaking her head. 

"No. I am fine." 

Mariusz bent down to place a small kiss on the top of her russet curls. Her mother would no doubt complain when they got back to the farm that the white apron covering her dress was dirty and her lace-up boots covered in mud, but in a place such as this, that couldn't be helped. The child had begged to go, after all. As soon as she had seen him lifting the collar onto the ageing draft horse, she had run outside into the stable yard and asked to be brought along to the horse fair. And now here they were, in the town a few miles from their arable farm, smelling the stench of sweat and horse dung.

"I can help you choose the new horse, can't I?" she'd begged as he was leaving, flashing a hopeful smile at him as he'd grabbed onto the side of the cart, about to pull himself up. He'd looked across his fields and at the old farmhouse, and nodded reluctantly.

"Yes you can, my darling," he'd told her, holding her chubby, sweaty hand and helping her up into the cart beside him. Clutching the reins, he'd slapped them against the rump of the horse's dun-coloured back, and held onto Szandra as the gelding took his first lumbering step onto the path that would take them into the village. The horse had been a dutiful and strong companion over the years, but he was getting too old and sore to pull a plough now, and it was time to get a fresher, younger animal before the autumn came. It was midsummer, and almost time for planting. Mariusz wasn't sure this cob would manage to make the furrows he needed this year. Better to replace him with a similar type of horse – something strong, muscled, and calm. Another draft horse, maybe even something equally as hardy but smaller in height, so Szandra could go out riding. She'd learnt to ride on the current horse, and was talented, but his back was too wide for her girlish legs, and she'd had to be content with Mariusz carefully leading them around the smallest field by the bridle.

"That one! That one!" she squealed, jumping up and down with delight at the steed that was being led down the street. Mariusz, distracted by a big roan carthorse that he had seen in the distance, looked in the direction her chubby index finger was pointing in.

"No my dear, he isn't suitable at all."

Szandra gripped onto his arm, and Mariusz's will immediately softened at the excited look in her eyes.

"But _look_!"

There was a loud whinny, and the crashing of hooves. Mariusz watched a large black stallion trot past them, nipping at his handler's forearm. There were flecks of foam at both sides of his mouth, and the whites of his eyes were showing; ears laid back in displeasure. From his glossy black haunches to his long, unruly mane, he was beautiful. 

"I love him. Please can we buy this one?" Szandra pleaded. Her high-pitched voice attracted the stallion's attention, and his ears pricked up.

"He hears me," Szandra cried, wriggling out of Mariusz's grip and running into the path of the horse. 

"Szandra!" Mariusz exclaimed as he watched his granddaughter throw her arms around the stallion. The horse whickered and brushed its muzzle against the girl's neck. 

"Please child, come," Mariusz pleaded, looking apologetically towards the handler. Most of the crowd was watching them now, but Szandra was stroking the horse's neck and placing kisses on his cheek. 

"He likes her," the handler commented. He was a thin, anxious-looking young man whose hands were calloused. He gave a brief smile, showing a mouth with too few teeth for someone his age.

"Be that as it may," Mariusz told him. "That animal is not what we're looking for. And much too expensive for us too I would think. Come, Szandra. We need to find something that can pull a plough."

"This one here can pull a plough," the handler said eagerly. "Or a cart. Or he can be used for riding. There is nothing this one cannot do."

Szandra ran back towards her grandfather, jumping up into his arms.

"Please can we buy him!"

The handler nodded, smiling. 

"We can't _afford_ him."

The handler spoke immediately.

"He's going cheap, sir. My father is ill and I can't run the farm with so many animals on my own. I'll give you a good price. He's young too, a horse like this can last for many years."

The horse turned its fine head, ears pricked up, and Mariusz could have sworn it was looking right at him. When he was a boy, oh how he'd wanted a horse like this.

The crowd were all encouraging him now.

"Buy him, buy him for the girl," one said, and a cheer erupted.

Mariusz found himself sliding a hand into the back pocket of his trousers and pulling out several notes. The handler approached, nodding as Mariusz shoved five of the notes into his hand.

"He is yours," the handler said, handing the rope to Mariusz. Szandra's face beamed with pride as they walked down the street back to their cart. The dun gelding laid his ears back and bared his teeth at the sight of the large black stallion approaching, and the two animals neighed at one another. Mariusz attached the stallion's halter to the back of their cart, and they made their way back home.

* 

Mariusz took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. Flecks of bloodied foam flew from the stallion's bridle as he fought against the bit he so hated. He kicked out backwards against the plough, bucked each time Mariusz pulled the reins, and pawed at the ground impatiently each time he had to stand still. Mariusz had known the moment they had gotten him home that the horse had been a mistake. He was irritable, mean-spirited, and almost impossible to control.

But Szandra adored him. The stallion only calmed when she approached, her small, kind hands caressing his ears and cheek. He would dip his head down to meet hers, and give soft nickers with each piece of apple or carrot she would feed him. Her voice seemed to soothe him, calm him. She watched from the side of the field as Mariusz took the horse's harness off and put a simple bridle on. He bent down to check its hooves for stones, but before he could stop her, Szandra had run over, balancing on a tree stump and grabbing the horse's coarse mane so that she could vault onto its back.

"No!" Mariusz called out in horror, but it was too late. The child was on the stallion's back, giving him a hefty slap on the rump. The horse gave a shriek, and then they were trotting away before quickly going into a canter, then fully galloping across the field. Mariusz put his hands on his head. All he could do was watch as the animal took his granddaughter far into the distance. 

The wind carried the noise of Szandra's screams, and Mariusz could see how she was now struggling to hold on. He ran as fast as he could, although his knees were slightly arthritic, and he could feel the strain his movements were causing on his heart. He could hear the thunderous thud of hooves on solid ground – it hadn't rained for days and the earth was dry and hard. This was rocky terrain, and Mariusz kept stumbling as he followed the beast that was taking his beloved kin far towards the horizon.

There was a blood-curdling wail, then a clatter of hooves as the horse gave a large buck. Mariusz cried out in anguish, watching as the child was catapulted onto the ground. His breath came out in moans as he approached his beloved granddaughter, her small body slumped against the rocks. The horse had stopped a few metres away, and was resting its front fetlock awkwardly. Mariusz knelt down, holding Szandra's head in his hands. Blood trickled from the wound at the base of her skull, and her pale blue eyes stared at nothing; lifeless. With a sob, Mariusz placed a palm over them and closed them.

Later, he went into the stable and put a bullet between the horse's eyes.

*

"Where is father?"

"Where he always is now."

Mariusz's son and daughter looked at each other sadly. Szandra had been his daughter's child, but she had only grief. Mariusz had grief and guilt for buying the creature that had killed her.

His son walked out of the house and towards the fields. There was a churning feeling in his gut about what his father had become since the loss of the girl. Old, thin and haggard.

He was sitting by the rocks where the horse had bucked Szandra off. He stayed there now, day and night, only coming back home when someone physically took him there.

He saw his son, and shook his head.

"Leave me be!" he cried. "I want to stay here. With her."

"She is _gone_ , father."

"I won't ever move from here," Mariusz said. "I will stay here until I die, and then I can join her."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hungaroring, 2010**  
"Can we move along?"

Rob kicked at the asphalt, hands on hips.

Felipe glanced first at the tyre wall, then at the engineer.

"What's wrong with _you_? Normally you want to stand at each corner for a long time! Is _really_ boring."

Rob's brow furrowed.

"You know why I want to move on, Felipe. You think it's nice for me to be at this corner, seeing those fucking tyre marks still here?"

"I don't mind seeing them, it's interesting, you know? I... "

Rob's temper snapped.

"I don't give a FUCK if you find it interesting. I don't find it any fucking easier, even a year later. So let's keep walking. Seriously, Felipe." Rob's voice started to crack. " _Please_."

Felipe looked at his engineer. Rob's face was almost as red as his Ferrari shirt, and he was rubbing the back of his head, just above the nape of his neck. Felipe remained still. He knew he should leave this corner, knew that Rob was getting increasingly agitated; upset, even – but his feet seemed to be pinned to the ground. Maybe it was a bit strange to everyone else, that he didn't mind being back at this spot, but to him – well, he just wanted to stay here and stare at the gravel, the tyres, and the piece of track beneath his feet. He... he didn't want to leave. 

A piercing pain shot through Felipe's temple, and an overwhelming sense of fear and grief suddenly gripped him. His stomach twisted into knots, and the sky seemed to become overcast; shades of dark grey and purple forming above his head. He lifted a foot up, then the other, and then he was walking towards the tyre wall. He stopped about three metres from where the impact had been a year ago, his heart racing. He put a hand to his chest, feeling it tighten. 

"Rob?" his voice was thin and reedy as he called out to his friend. There was no reply. That sharp pain tore through his temple once more, and instinctively, he reached up towards his scar. "Rob!" he repeated. Something in the back of his eyes flashed white and hot, and he saw blue eyes and a trickle of blood.

Slowly, Felipe turned. Rob was standing there, hands dropped by his sides, his face ashen and haggard. 

He was crying.

* 

"Do you feel better?"

Rob gave a short nod, but his face was wan as he leant his head against the back of the large cream armchair. The hotel room was quiet, and quiet was most definitely what he needed right now.

"I'll feel better when Saturday afternoon is over." He let his eyes close briefly as he felt the migraine that had been plaguing him all day begin to ease. He had no doubt that it would re-emerge during qualifying, but for now, the thudding pain was releasing its grip on the inside of his brain.

Not for the first time, Rob wondered if he was suitable for the job he did. No other engineer regarded their driver as their family, did they? They all seemed to be able to keep that necessary distance between themselves and the sportsman they had to engineer. You had to learn to have a close working relationship, learn the driver's preferences and psyche; get to understand what they were thinking about inside the car – but Rob couldn't stop at that. With Felipe, he couldn't maintain that gap between being work colleagues and being... well, being what he and Felipe were. He'd gotten too close, he knew that. Even before the accident, it had been that way. He'd not had it with any driver before Felipe, and he doubted that he'd have it with any driver after. 

"It will be okay, you will see," Felipe replied with an unworried shrug. He cocked his head a little to look at Rob – the rising and falling of his pale, shirtless chest; the purplish shadows under his eyes; the freckles on the long arms that were resting on each side of the chair. He didn't quite know or understand what he had felt, standing at that corner today, but he knew that his concern for Rob's wellbeing was very real. 

Rob's eyes flicked open. Felipe was standing in front of him, chewing on his bottom lip, as he always did when he was thinking.

"You don't need to stay with me, you know," he drawled.

"I want to stay."

"Well, then this armchair's large enough for the two of us."

Rob moved his legs, allowing Felipe to straddle his lap. Felipe hooked his fingers around the back of Rob's neck, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. He moved his mouth downwards, pressing it against the dimple in Rob's chin, and a memory tore through his mind, a memory of seeing that for the first time all those years ago, and wanting to reach out and touch it, because... because it had been _so_ long since he'd last seen it. 

Rob reached behind his head, wrapping a hand around each of Felipe's wrists and bringing them down against his chest. The Brazilian was still kissing him, but Rob backed away.

"Can we just... stay still?"

Rob knew that staying still wasn't something that Felipe was particularly good at, but tonight, he didn't want sex. He just needed to keep Felipe close. He placed a hand on Felipe's cheek, and the smaller man did the same to him. They stared at one another. Felipe's lips parted and he began to speak.

"Today, at the turn... "

Rob shook his head.

"But Rob, you... "

"Let's not talk about it." Rob brought Felipe's hand to his chest, keeping it pressed against his cold skin. "Just... stop being so flippant about it." Rob allowed himself a small grin as he saw Felipe's blank expression. "I mean, stop making light of the accident. Just because you don't remember anything, it doesn't mean that every single second of that day isn't with me forever. Put yourself in my shoes. If that had been me... "

"I would have died right there with you," Felipe said suddenly. He pressed his forehead against Rob's, his breathing quickening. "I would have laid right down at that spot and never left your side."

**Campinas, Sao Paulo state, 1840**  
"Leave me alone! I _said_ leave.. me... ALONE!"

Lucca watched from the opposite end of the street as the girl pushed away the two boys who were bothering her. They were pulling her long black hair and blocking her path as she tried to walk forwards. She was carrying school books, clutching them close to her chest.

Lucca took a few steps forward, wondering if this girl was worth the risk of getting his ass kicked by guys who were both older – and bigger. She had stopped now, and with a stamp of her foot, was hissing at them.

"Fuck off! Idiots!"

She swung a heavy book at the largest boy's head, a tanned leg kicking out at the other.

Lucca found himself grinning, before breaking into a run.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Go and pick on someone else!"

The boys turned to look at him, then shouted curse words before walking off in the other direction.

Lucca bent down to pick up a book the girl had dropped. When he stood up straight again, he expected a bit of gratitude. Instead, her brow was furrowed and her mouth was turned downwards in a pout.

"I didn't need your help."

Lucca's mouth gaped open in surprise.

"Maybe not, but I couldn't let a girl be bullied like that, could I?"

She stamped her foot.

"I wasn't being bullied. And I can take care of _myself_."

Lucca moved backwards a few steps, holding his hands up.

"Okay, okay! Won't happen again!" He watched her put her hands on her hips and lift her chin up haughtily. "I was only trying to help," he explained.

He scratched the back of his head and shrugged.

"Goodbye, then."

Lucca began to trudge off, grumbling to himself about wasting his time.

"Wait!"

He stopped and turned.

"What is it?"

The girl's face had softened slightly, and Lucca saw for the first time how pretty she was.

"I know you!"

He shook his head.

"...I really don't think so."

Lucca looked down at his slightly too-short trouser legs and frayed shirt. His brown hair was messy and his face was sweaty and grimy from wandering around all day in an attempt to find work, any work. It was all in stark contrast to the pale blue summer dress the girl was wearing, her glossy hair, and her expensive-looking tan leather sandals. 

"I do!" she repeated, a giggle in her voice. "Your name's Lucca, isn't it."

Lucca squinted as he tried to place her. This was a girl who moved in completely different circles. There was no way she could ever know someone like him.

"You don't remember _me_?" There was that pout again as she folded her arms.

"I'm sorry, I really think you must have me confused with someone else."

"I'm Antonella!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "We used to play together as children."

Lucca narrowed his eyes as he thought back to a time when he used to play with the little girl who lived at the end of his road. They would chase one another and see who could run the fastest. She'd kissed him, once. He had run back home, embarrassed and just the tiniest bit scared. Lucca wasn't sure those emotions would change if she did it again. She was short, with a slightly chubby face and hint of a lisp – but her dark eyes were large and soulful, and her perfect rose-pink lips were mesmerising. As if she knew he was gazing at her mouth, she licked them, then laughed, showing straight white teeth.

"I remember now," Lucca nodded shyly. "You moved away."

"We came back here a month ago," she explained. "My father came into some money – he bought the coffee plantation here."

"Ah." Lucca found himself taking a step backwards. Her pristine clothes made sense now. She was _rich_. And him? He was grubby, and his clothes were unkempt.

"And you?" she asked politely, and he noticed how she was standing on tiptoes to meet his eyes. "What are you doing now?"

His face reddened.

"Not much of anything. Looking for work, like most people in this town."

His cheeks burned further as she linked her arm with his.

"Let me help with that."

*

If it was strange that he was such good friends with the daughter of his boss, she never made it feel that way. She was confident, impulsive, impatient and outspoken, all traits that he himself had always shied away from. She had started to visit him during the fifteen minutes of free time he was allowed every day. She'd bring him a bottle of lemonade or some bread, always smelling fragrant and positively glowing with health – and wealth.

One day, she looked even more radiant than she normally did. Lucca wasn't sure whether it was the smell of flowers, the muggy day, or the closeness of her body to his that made his head feel so light that he wasn't sure it wouldn't float right up off his shoulders and into the clouds above.

"Can I take your hand?" he stuttered 

She turned to him, smiled, and grabbed his fingers, linking hers amidst his.

"There," she said lightly. "That was easy, wasn't it!"

But the following day, she didn't come.

Lucca waited until late afternoon, when he knew the foreman would have snuck off for half an hour to visit the girl he was seeing behind his wife's back. 

He looked around to make sure none of his fellow workers were nearby, and began walking the five miles towards the large house that Antonella shared with her father. The worry that something had happened to her spurred him on as he tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. 

As he neared his destination, he heard giggling coming from the front porch of the large white house. He stopped dead in his tracks, watching as Antonella leaned over to give a man he had never seen before a kiss on the cheek. He was stocky, bullish-looking, and clad in a suit. 

Lucca swore under his breath and spat at the ground. He would wait here for her until it got dark.

 

*

 

"Who is he?"

"Karlos."

Lucca clenched his fists by his sides.

"I didn't ask his _name_. I asked who he IS."

Antonella's eyes widened as she registered how angry he was. Lucca immediately felt guilt at how taken aback she looked, but his jealous rage quickly eclipsed it.

"Well?"

She swallowed hard before answering, her voice shaking slightly as she did so.

"He works for my father."

"In the fields? Like me?"

Antonella bit her lip and stared down at her feet. She shook her head slowly.

"As his assistant. I told you – my father has been away on business. Karlos goes with him, to learn for the future. They only got back today."

Lucca put his hands on his hips, his chest heaving as dread started to rise up from the pit of his stomach.

"And you're friends?"

"Yes."

"Just friends?"

Antonella didn't answer, and when she looked back up at Lucca, her large eyes were full of tears.

"We've spent a lot of time together, working. My father likes him... he never had a son, you know? He wants for Karlos and I... "

Lucca thought of Antonella's father – his cold, almost cruel-looking face with a hooked nose and piggish eyes. The way he looked down upon people like him – humble plantation workers who toiled all day in the heat with barely a break. While the likes of Karlos sat in a cool office, taking long lunches and getting... getting Antonella, it seemed.

"I have to go home. I don't need to tell you how early your father makes me start in the mornings, do I?" Lucca sneered.

"Lucca," Antonella reached out a hand, touching his arm lightly. He flinched, pulling away.

"Go back to your boyfriend."

Lucca turned his back on her, kicking at the ground in frustration. Hearing faint sobbing, he turned, finding Antonella underneath the shade of one of the large trees that surrounded the house, her hands over her eyes. Immediately he was beside her, daring to put his arms around her. Her small body felt warm and lithe against his, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her glossy black hair.

Antonella's voice came out in a whisper.

"He's not a bad person. I like him. But, oh, when I'm with you, I... "

Lucca didn't let her finish, clamping his mouth down onto hers. She gave a little moan of pleasure as his tongue slipped into her mouth, and slid her hands downwards to rest them on his back. Lucca kept kissing her, and his stubble brushed against her cheek. She could smell his sweat, not an unpleasant aroma, but earthy and primal. She pulled her mouth away, only to trail her lips against his neck and the top of his chest. Between her legs she began to throb as he pressed her closer against the tree. She could feel him, solid against her thigh, hear him panting as she began to hitch up her dress. Oh God, oh God, if they got caught...

Lucca pulled down the front of her thin dress, finding her small, brown breast, and taking her in his mouth. She ran her fingers through the back of his hair, enjoying the feel of his hot tongue against her skin, but his tongue abruptly stopped flicking its way around her nipple, and Lucca gave a short groan as his body suddenly lurched forward. 

"Uhh – oh sorry, sorry, sorry." 

Antonella felt a wetness against the top of her leg, and when she looked up, Lucca's face was flushed with embarrassment, or because of his sudden climax, or perhaps both.

"I couldn't... " he panted, unable to finish his sentence at first. "I couldn't hold on. You're just so... "

He exhaled, putting his hand against the tree to steady himself.

" Please just go, Antonella. I can't control myself around you. I can't be trusted."

 

*

She kicked the blankets off her bed, unable to sleep. Lucca's face flashed into her mind - the way his eyes remained fixed on her while she spoke, the way he made her feel like she was the only person that mattered, the way every time she laughed at something he said, his face would flush pink with happiness.

She got out of bed, paced over to the window to open it and let some of the night air into the room, however muggy, and lay back down again. The air carried in the smell of the coffee plant blossoms, and it made her think of Lucca amidst the trees, picking berries. Shirtless, with the sun beating down on his slender body. She smoothed her hand across her flat stomach, wriggling her toes and imagining beads of sweat on Lucca's top lip; trousers hanging loosely so that his hip bones were visible. 

He'd said sorry so many times for what had happened the day before at the tree, but she told him not to apologise. She knew what he meant about that lack of control. She felt it too every time she smelt his skin, or watched him run a sweaty hand through his hair. She would never admit what she really felt out loud, but all she wanted was to be fucked by him. She ached for it. She _burned_.

 

*

...Once he had, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. He fucked her amongst the long grass outside of the plantation; against the trees; in a darkened alleyway behind a local cafe; even in her bedroom when her father had gone out. He felt he was going half-mad with his incessant lust for her. She was sweaty and vocal, always clawing at him and nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth. He tried to get her to be quieter sometimes, but she'd just laugh and purposely cry out louder and longer. Once, she had wept in his arms, sobbing that she loved him and couldn't bear to be apart from him. He'd started to plan their getaway right then and there. 

They were lying in the sun one stiflingly hot afternoon, when with trembling fingers, Lucca pulled the letter he had read and re-read umpteen times out of his back pocket. This was it. He sat up on his elbow and cleared his throat.

"I have a cousin in Rio."

"Hmmm?" Antonella ran a hand down the side of his cheek, resting the tip of her finger on the middle of his chin. 

"Rio," he repeated. "My cousin has gotten a job in the shipyard there. He said there are jobs – lots of jobs. He said I can stay with him until I get on my feet."

"You have a job here," she replied lazily, and Lucca could sense she didn't think he was being serious. "You would be better staying, no?"

"No," Lucca said firmly, and he felt her body stiffen beneath him. "I would make more money, have more opportunity to move up... I don't want to stay working in a field for all of my life, you know?"

Antonella sat up, her eyes dark and suspicious. She waved a hand.

"Well, if you want to go, go! If you want to leave me that is fine!"

Lucca placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I mean for you to come with me, Antonella. We can go together, start a proper life, away from here." He tried to hide the pleading note in his voice but the more she tried to shrug herself out of his grip, the more difficult it became.

She gave the slightest shake of her head.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Tears pooled in her eyes.

"My family are here. I've never known any place but this one. I couldn't just leave, I... "

Lucca felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

"You said you loved me."

She bit her lip.

"I do, I do."

He turned his head and spat onto the ground.

"But you don't trust that I can give you something better than this, do you? Or that there could be something _more_ out there for the both of us."

She didn't reply.

 

*

 

"Is it you?"

The woman's voice had a slight lisp, and Lucca felt the back of his neck prickle as he set his cup of coffee down and turned around. Her hair was almost entirely grey now, and she was a little fuller around the face and waist, but it was unmistakeably her.

"Hello, Antonella." He smiled.

The noisy, bustling cafe suddenly felt like it was populated only by the two of them. Lucca remained in his seat as Antonella hovered before him, looking deeply uncomfortable. Lucca folded his newspaper and used it to motion for her to sit down in the empty chair opposite.

"I'm waiting on my wife," he explained. "Would you like a coffee?"

She shook her head.

"What brings you back here?" she asked. The jovial tone in her voice seemed forced.

"My cousin passed away. We are back in town for a few days."

"I'm sorry."

Lucca nodded a thank you. He pushed his coffee cup away.

"You never left here?"

Antonella shook her head.

"Never."

Lucca saw the sad look in her eyes, and felt something he had never felt for her before – sympathy. It was still clear what a beauty she had been in her youth, but she looked beaten down now. Beaten down and sad. How many decades had passed since he had last laid eyes on her? Three? Almost four, maybe. She fiddled with an expensive-looking gold bracelet on her wrist, and Lucca noticed the large diamond ring glinting in the sunshine that was streaming through the cafe window.

"You're married too?"

Her face flushed and she put her hands under the table.

"Yes. I married Karlos. About six months after you left me. Do you remember him?"

Lucca pulled a case of slim cigars from his suit pocket and lit one angrily.

"Remember him? How could I not." He stared at her, all too aware of how uncomfortable his silence was making her, but not caring. All these years, he'd buried thoughts of her as much as he could; her scent, her dark eyes, her infectious laugh and silly sense of humour. He'd gotten on with his life without her – done well in his job and moved up in the company the way he had told her he would. But she hadn't had faith in him, or had been too frightened to take a risk – and now those old feelings of hurt and rejection were bubbling up inside him.

"Well, I hope your marriage is very happy." Lucca's jaw clenched, and he almost felt bad at the obvious insincerity of his words.

"Is your wife like me?" Antonella snapped back.

Lucca shook his head.

"She's blonde. And quiet. Calming. So no, she's not like you at all."

"And you love her?"

"I love the companionship she gives me."

"That wasn't the question I asked."

"Well, it's the only answer I'm ever going to give you."

They glared at each other. Lucca stubbed out his cigar and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. He could smell her perfume – she hadn't changed it after all this time, and it was making his head throb. Why had he been so confident at coming back here? He'd never dreamed that she would still be living in the same place. Had she never wanted to get away, to try somewhere new?

"You said that _I_ left _you_ ," Lucca shook his head.

"You did."

Lucca slammed his hand down onto the table so hard that the other patrons in the cafe looked over.

"I asked you to come with me and you were the one that said no."

"But you still left!" Antonella shrieked.

"You would have been happy!" Lucca cried out, years and years of pent-up regret finally erupting. "Why did you not come with me? _Why_?"

She took a step back, glancing at him sheepishly as she mumbled a reply.

"I couldn't leave my family."

Lucca gave a cold, cynical laugh.

"You were scared to leave."

"I was happy there. And Karlos loved me. He gave me a good life."

"No-one could have fucking loved you the way I did!" Lucca exclaimed. 

Antonella's eyes flashed angrily, and Lucca saw that despite their advancing years, the fire within her was still there. The decades seemed to melt away as she threw her head up irritably and turned her mouth into a pout.

"He promised me everything. Everything!" she spat. "A comfortable life. Security. What could you offer me? You had nothing. If I had gone with you, I would have had nothing but the unknown."

Lucca's voice cracked with emotion as he replied.

" _I_ would have married you. _I_ would have been your husband - and I know that that would have been enough."


	3. Chapter 3

**Spain, 2013**  
" _I'm the husband_."

Rob felt his face flush at the words that had just come out of his mouth, and he knew he was going red in front of the television cameras. 'I'm the husband'? Where the hell had _that_ come from? He kept his composure as best he could for the remainder of the interview, but as he walked back inside, he felt an uncontrollable urge to bang his head against the tyres that were lined up at the back of the garage. Jesus, you're a fucking prick.

"Who's a fucking prick?"

Felipe's voice was thick with happiness, fresh from the podium and reeking of champagne. Rob could see it glistening on his lips.

"You are. You're a fucking prick, mate."

Felipe's soft mouth turned into a pout, and Rob rolled his eyes. He reached around, giving the driver a hard slap on his ass.

"Good race. Although how many times did I have to fucking tell you that we needed seventh gear..."

"Rob."

"Yeah?"

Felipe leant in, his bottom lip brushing against Rob's earlobe.

"If you shut up I'll let you do that again, but in private. And harder."

" _Fuck_ ," Rob murmured under his breath, and not for the first time, he wondered how Felipe had this hold on him; this sexual hold that Rob had always expected to lessen, but it never had. It had never burned away, or released its grip on him. 

He went back to the hotel with some of the mechanics, promising Felipe that he'd meet him in some godawful nightclub later on. He hated the type of place that the drivers frequented after races, but he felt like getting shitfaced. Shitfaced with his driver.

*

"Fucking crap tunes in here." Rob leant against the wall, swigging from a bottle of Estrella. The dance floor was heaving, bodies of models and celebrities crushed together, and the drunken chatter of them all was almost louder than the music. 

"You're so boring!" Felipe mocked as he walked towards Rob, sashaying a little to the beat of the music. The neon lights illuminated one half of his face as he approached, reminding Rob of watching girls he fancied in shitty University nightclubs years ago. Felipe's white shirt was unbuttoned almost to the middle of his chest, and in one hand he held a Capirinha. He held it out. "Some of this will help you have fun, no?"

"Help me puke more like," was the reply, but Rob downed the last of his beer and accepted the glass. The tangy flavour of lime and alcohol always reminded him of the taste of Felipe's mouth on all the nights like this they had had before. Sweaty and drunken, and well - _filthy_. Rob felt a tingling in the base of his back, and he licked his lips.

"Seeing as you actually bought me a drink for once, it'd be rude not to accept it." He took a few large gulps, his mouth filled with crushed ice. Felipe watched him intently as Rob narrowed his cheeks, sucking the ice and swallowing it down. 

"Good?" Felipe's tongue ran along his top lip.

Rob nodded.

"Yeah. Good."

The music changed from the thud-thud of techno to something more Latino-sounding. Felipe's eyes lit up and he grabbed Rob's forearm.

"Come on."

Rob tried to pull away.

"If you think you're getting me up to dance, you can fuck right off, mate."

Felipe made a tutting noise.

"Stop pretending you don't want to. Come on."

Rob followed Felipe through the throng of people, ending up right in the middle of the dancefloor. It was so busy that their bodies were pressed together even before they had begun to dance.

"You can samba to this music," Felipe held a finger aloft. 

" _You could_ ," Rob replied quickly, shaking his head as the Brazilian reached out and put his hands on Rob's waist. 

"I teach you!"

The trumpets and flamenco guitar were making him want to at least tap his feet, Rob had to admit, and he laughed as Felipe began to move his body, stepping back and forth in time to the beat. 

"You're not going to teach me the woman's bit are you?" Rob wrinkled his nose before tentatively beginning to copy the moves, much to Felipe's delight. 

"Now let your hips bounce, okay?" Felipe shouted over the song. "Left to right."

His grip on Rob's waist tightened, before his hands moved downwards so that they were resting against his hips, thumbs hooked into the waistband of Rob's jeans. Rob swivelled his lower body, feeling how hot Felipe's touch was. His hips jerked forward and he saw Felipe's top lip start to bead with sweat.

Felipe pressed himself closer as they danced, their thighs and faces dangerously close for where they were – but fuck it, everyone was drunk and too caught up in their own movements to even notice the behaviour of a pissed Ferrari race engineer and his driver.

"You're a natural, like a Brazilian, you know?" Felipe praised him. 

Rob downed the rest of the cocktail, some of it dribbling down his chin and onto the collar of his navy t-shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You drink those like a Brazilian too," Felipe grinned.

"I drink like an _Englishman_ ," Rob corrected. "Better than you."

Felipe moved nearer, brushing his lips against Rob's ear before nuzzling into the small of the other man's neck.

"No, no. You're too wild for that. You're more like one of us."

He nipped at Rob's neck, and the sharp, not-quite-painful sensation shot straight to the older man's cock.

"Think I'm wild now, do ya?" Rob slurred, running a fingertip down Felipe's spine and into the small of his back.

*

"I'll show you wild," Rob whispered in the hotel room, kicking he and Felipe's hastily discarded clothes out of the way as he pushed the smaller man face-first against the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Felipe's heavy breathing fogged up the glass, and he cursed out loud as he felt Rob's tongue travel from the back of his neck downward. His prick pressed against the mirror as he spread his legs further apart, feeling the tickle of Rob's light stubble against the back of his thighs. He stared at his own reflection – lips reddened from both kissing and lust, pupils dilated, and hair damp with sweat.

Rob moved upwards again, sucking on the side of Felipe's neck gently, and bucking his hips against the curve of the Brazilian's ass. Felipe made an ' _Oh_ ' sound as he felt Rob's rigid cock brush against his skin, and he grit his teeth in impatience.

"Down," Rob demanded.

Felipe did as he was told, sliding to the ground and resting himself on his knees. He put one hand on the floor, the other pressed against the mirrored door and leaving streaks of sweat each time he moved it. He looked at their reflection, and Rob was looming over him, his head thrown back slightly and lips parted as he put one hand on Felipe's left hip and began to slowly jerk himself off with the other. He met Felipe's eyes in the mirror, and smiled wickedly.

"Like watching me do this, do you?"

Felipe's breath hitched in his throat and he was unable to answer as he watched Rob stroke himself up and down, his cock swollen and dark with arousal. He heard Rob's panting become heavier before there was a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh fuck. Fuck, Felipe. _Fuck_."

Felipe cried out as he felt Rob push himself inside, and then there was the usual hot, delicious burn as Rob began to fuck him, slowly at first, before building to a rhythm that had Felipe's knees grinding against the carpeted floor and his hand falling from the mirror to his own dick. 

Rob wrapped an arm around Felipe's waist, pulling him tightly against his body. Felipe gave a gasp as Rob pounded into him, filling him with his thick cock, hitting the spot deep inside him that made him cry out Rob's name, and ask for _more, more_.

"Am I moving my hips good enough for you _now_?" Rob growled.

But Felipe didn't want to talk, he just wanted to go faster. Rob leant over Felipe's back, jerking his hips with ferocity. The room was filled with the chorus of Felipe's loud moans and the slapping sounds of fucking. Felipe felt Rob biting down onto the back of his shoulder, and his lips and tongue were hot and wet.

Rob reached a hand around, finding Felipe's lips, and the younger man sucked three of his fingers in greedily. Rob's hand slapped Felipe's away from his own dick, and soon the sodden digits were wrapped around Felipe's length, rubbing him up and down rapidly.

"Going to... "

Felipe's body shook as a stream of come splattered onto the mirror. Seeing the way Felipe's body was quivering, and the shining head of his cock made Rob fall apart, and he joined Felipe in groaning as he came. He grasped Felipe's waist possessively, riding out the waves with a few more shallow thrusts.

"I can't hold up anymore," Felipe gasped breathlessly as his knees gave way and he collapsed. Rob pulled out of him with a moan, sitting back on his knees as he tried to get his breathing back to normal. He stared at the reflection of the two of them – one pale, one tanned, both naked and sated. Felipe rolled over onto his back, running a hand across his stomach, satisfied. Rob bent over, running his tongue along that soft tummy, before allowing himself to fall against the other man's body.

Felipe held Rob's head against his chest, running his fingers through that damp auburn hair. He hooked a leg around the back of Rob's thigh, trapping him. There was no way he was letting him go.

"One of these days I'm going to have to learn to control myself around you... "

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Rob."

 

**Brescia, 1935**  
"Romano. _Romano_!"

Romano turned over in bed, opened his eyes groggily, and was met with another pair staring excitedly back at him.

"Fabrizio?" he mumbled. "Why aren't you at home? I was sleeping."

The eyes widened, frantic.

"I can hear!"

"Hear?"

"Hear the car, hear the engine!"

Fabrizio tugged at the collar of Romano's pyjama top impatiently.

"Come on! Get up, get dressed!"

"What time is it?"

"It's 7 o'clock." Fabrizio stood up and stomped his foot on the wooden floor agitatedly. "Be quick!"

Romano eased himself out of his single-poster bed, groaning as he thought of how his school-friend and neighbour always seemed to be getting him into scrapes. He picked up his shirt and shorts from the chair beside his bed, and changed as fast as his sleep-fugged brain would allow.

"How did you get in? Did you climb up the tree again?"

"Of course!" the smaller boy replied, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.

Romano wagged a finger.

"You will fall, one day."

"I won't! I am too good! Now hurry!" Fabrizio clapped his hands.

Together, they ran down the stairs and out into the square of the village. Romano, as always, found that his younger companion's enthusiasm was infectious, and he picked up speed as they hurried towards the road. They'd heard rumours and whispers that Mr Ferrari from Alfa Romeo had made a new car and would be testing it nearby, but Romano hadn't really believed them. But Fabrizio had – because he never doubted or lost hope in _anything_. Just like his latest chatter about going to Monza to see the famous banking. He wanted to climb to the top, he said. Climb to the very top and look down, lie back and listen to the echoes of engines that were the constant soundtrack inside his own head. He would close his eyes and feel the pretend whoosh of air as invisible racing cars sped past. He would do _all_ of these things.

The town was quiet on this sunny April morning, save for a few women coming back from the local market; their baskets laden with fresh bread and fruit. 

"I think you were imagining things," Romano looked down at his friend, who was biting at his fingernails. He held a hand to his eyes, glancing down the road. Silly Fabrizio – so obsessed with seeing this supposed new car that he was hearing things that didn't exist.

"It's coming!"

Fabrizio hopped up and down, plump hands clapping together, as a dot in the distance quickly approached, turning into a red racing car as it got closer.

Romano held his breath at the rumble of the engine. It was the greatest thing he had ever seen, from the heart-shaped grille at the front to the strange yellow badge on the side, standing out against the glossy scarlet paintwork. The badge looked like it had a black horse on it, but the speed was such that he couldn't be sure. His heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest, and his brain raced with the wonders of making a vehicle like this. How many engines? What top speed could it reach? What kind of gearbox? 

"That's Nivola driving!" Fabrizio exclaimed, looking at the man behind the wheel. 

He pointed.

"Him! I want to be him."

Romano turned toward his friend. Fabrizio's eyes were wide, the whites showing, and his cheeks flushed red as he pointed excitedly to the car.

"The way he is holding the wheel," he enthused. "He looks brave. He looks... he looks like a _king_."

"He's not a king," Romano said softly. "He's just a man. He is only doing what the car allows him to do."

Fabrizio shook his head, his lips turned downwards grumpily. 

"No, NO!" he tutted. "He is the one with his foot on the pedals. He is a _hero_!"

He paused, turning back to gaze at the driver, in his overalls and leather cap. Driving goggles were strapped against his forehead, and a cigarette dangled from his mouth.

The car disappeared into the distance.

"I want to be like him. Someday."

*

They had taken Romano's father away, his mother had said. Fabrizio didn't know who 'they' were, but there had been a lot of 'theys' since the beginning of the war. The 'theys' who had lined them up in the school playground, made them wear dark-coloured shirts, put strange flags into their hands. And all in the cold. This winter was so very, very cold. Sometimes when Fabrizio thought of that warm day just over five years ago when he had seen the racing car, he wanted to run upstairs to his bedroom and cry.

Since it had just been Romano and his mother, the elder boy had been more subdued, less interested in playing outside or getting into any mischief. It made Fabrizio feel unsafe, to know that his friend wasn't the way he had always been before. To him, Romano was his big brother, even if it wasn't by blood.

"Romano, have you seen your father lately?" a sing-song voice asked.

Fabrizio looked across the playground. Romano leant against the wall of their school, pretending not to hear.

"Who said that?" Fabrizio demanded. "Tell me who said that NOW."

There was a cackle as one of the older boys, Gaetano, approached. He had a sneering look on his face. Everyone knew that his family were wealthy, and that he looked down on the poorer children.

"I was asking your friend how is father is. Oh that's right, he's gone!" He laughed. "I hear he's never coming back. I hear that he has gone away to be a soldier – and you know that when men do that, they are never seen again."

"Shut your mouth!" Fabrizio dived at Gaetano, throwing a punch that landed square on the other boy's nose. Gaetano gasped, blood erupting from his nostrils as he staggered backwards. Fabrizio was dimly aware of Romano calling for him to stop, but he ignored it, and pushed Gaetano to the crowd, where he aimed a few blows at his stomach.

Arms were soon grabbing him and trying to pull him away. Romano was at his side, slapping at his hands and pleading with him to cease. Romano was on his knees now, leaning over Gaetano and placing his hands on the boy's face, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Children! ENOUGH!"

A teacher came running out, and the assembled crowd rapidly dispersed, leaving Gaetano, Fabrizio and Romano in a heap on the ground. She held her hands to her face in shock as she saw the bloodied nose of Gaetano.

"How could you!" she shrieked. "Someone, run a fetch the school nurse!"

Romano stood up first, his hands covered in blood. The teacher grabbed Fabrizio's collar, pulling him upward.

"Which one of you is responsible for this?" She tugged at Fabrizio's collar again, glaring at him angrily. Fabrizio swallowed hard, opening his mouth to admit what he had done, but he was interrupted.

"I did it," Romano said, turning his head upwards stubbornly. Fabrizio was his friend, his brother. And he was older, and bigger. He could take whatever punishment there was better. He held his bloody hands up. "It was me."

*

"I'm going away," Romano said, kicking at a rock in the ground, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "They told me last night."

"Going away where?"

"I don't know."

Fabrizio bit his lip. This was his fault, for punching Gaetano. Fabrizio hadn't been allowed to go back to school since pretending he had done it, and now he was leaving the village.

Romano attempted a smile, but it was clearly fake.

"I'm going to work in a factory, making screws," he explained, and then needlessly added, "It's for the war."

"Everything is for this stupid war!" Fabrizio cried out, and Romano 'shushed' him.

"You can't say things like that out loud. Promise me you won't speak out, Fabrizio. Keep your head, do as you are told, and you will be fine."

Fabrizio raised an eyebrow. Romano was speaking like they would never see one another again, and he didn't like it.

"But you are supposed to build me a car that I can race!" Fabrizio said desperately. "We said we would – when we are older. And win everything!"

Romano shrugged. 

"You will have to do it without me now." He dug inside his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Fabrizio wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he watched his friend light one and take long drags. This was a new habit, and one he didn't care for.

"When do you go?"

Romano exhaled.

"Tomorrow."

* 

Fabrizio lay in bed, his window fully open as he listened, once more, for engine noises. He'd slept in his clothes all night, needing to be up as soon as he heard them. But this time it wasn't the big Alfa he was listening out for. 

He jumped up as soon as he heard something. The noise got louder and louder, and by the time he was sprinting out of his front door, a large brown truck was parked outside, a rickety wooden trailer attached to the back. Romano was standing beside it, his mother crying and planting kisses on her son's cheeks. She handed him a food parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Romano put a hand to his face and wiped away a tear as quickly as he could.

"Romano!" Fabrizio croaked.

Romano turned to look at him and gave a wan smile.

"See you soon, little brother."

He put a foot on the bottom of the trailer and hauled himself up. The driver revved the engine and began to move down the dirt path that would take them onto the main road and far away from here.

Fabrizio gave a sob and began to run in its path. _Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave_. He ran until his calves began to burn and his breath came in ragged gasps. Romano watched him sadly at first, but then turned his head away. Fabrizio could still see him at first, see how he was wiping his face, but then he looked smaller and smaller, until suddenly, he was gone. 

~~~

Rob sat up, sweat prickling his skin as he woke with a start. He rubbed his eyes and immediately grabbed his phone to check the time. 5am. 

"Fuck," he breathed. 

Beside him, Lucy stirred, reaching out to run her palm along his arm.

"Sorry for waking you."

"It's okay," she whispered. "Are you alright?"

Rob scratched his head, mussing his thick hair up even more than it already was. 

"Yeah, yeah, was just having a strange dream."

He reached over to the glass of water on his bedside table and took a few large gulps. The room was dark but there was light coming through the gap in the curtains. Little point in even trying to get back to sleep now.

"A bad one?" Lucy asked, sitting up on one arm.

Rob breathed in, then shook his head.

"I don't know, really. I just remember warm sun on my face and feeling sad. That's it. I feel weird though, you know?"

"Dreams can make you feel like that sometimes, Rob. Try getting back to sleep for a bit before the kids wake up."

"Nah." Rob rubbed his forehead. "Too much on my mind to sleep."

"Rob," Lucy began slowly. "You have to tell Felipe soon."

Rob nodded but didn't meet his wife's eyes.

"I know. I _know_."

He felt sick every time he thought about it. He knew Felipe would understand when he found out that Rob was leaving Ferrari, but that didn't make the process of breaking the news to the driver any easier. He wondered how to say the words, how to reassure Felipe that his decision was nothing to do with Felipe himself, or the struggles they had had together over the past few seasons – it was just _time_. 

"I'm going to go downstairs and stick the TV on for a bit," he told Lucy in a hushed voice. 

"Okay. Be quiet though, I don't want the kids to waken up so soon."

Rob pulled a t-shirt on and padded downstairs. The living room was dark and cool, and he sat down in his favourite armchair with a sigh. A couple of minutes just sitting here, and then he'd go into the kitchen and make himself a black coffee. He stretched his long legs out, feeling his eyelids get heavy and his breathing deepen. Somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming, he visualised standing in the middle of a racetrack, facing Felipe as he said the word 'Williams'. He imagined Felipe's face falling as his own future came into question even more than it had been already. He saw himself walking backwards, seeing Felipe's red-clad figure get tinier and tinier as the distance between them grew. Rob could almost hear Felipe's voice.

_Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave._


	4. Chapter 4

**Oxfordshire, early 2014**  
Felipe's footsteps echoed against the uncarpeted floor. Rob rubbed paint from his hands with a towel and switched the radio off.

"What do you reckon of the new house then?"

"Looks good!" Felipe smiled, nodding with approval at the freshly painted cream walls of the living room. "Have you done ALL of this yourself?"

"'Course I have!" Rob answered in a mock-offended tone. "Well, aside from when Lucy's here. She's up North this week buying soft furnishings with her mother – or something that women are better at, anyway."

The pot of paint on the floor caught Felipe's attention, and he eyed up the brush with a glint in his eye.

"Don't you dare," Rob warned, knowing that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up being chased by a small Brazilian wielding a magnolia-covered paintbrush. "Don't you fucking dare."

He leant against the door frame, watching as Felipe surveyed his new home. New house, new job... new start. Everything new – save for the man standing in front of him. 

"You will miss your garden in Italy though, no?"

Rob shrugged, trying not to think about the work he'd put into the vegetable garden there. He could plant new things, see them grow from scratch here.

"Yeah, but... "

"...You had to go," Felipe interrupted. "From there."

He stopped and turned to look at Rob with a nervous expression.

"Maybe go from me as well."

Rob's eyes widened and he put his hands on his hips.

"What does _that_ mean?"

Felipe chewed his lip, pacing over to look out of the front window as he spoke. 

"Maybe you left because we... _I_... wasn't winning, you know?"

He waited for Rob to respond, clenching his fists as they hung by his side. The thought that Rob had wanted a fresh start away from him ate through his brain like acid. Maybe he'd wanted to work with new drivers, had been excited about it – but then he'd gone and joined Williams as well. 

"Don't be a knob," came the eventual reply.

Felipe heard Rob's footsteps as he walked into the kitchen.

"Coffee?" the engineer called.

Felipe sighed.

"Okay." He followed Rob into the large kitchen that was still in all manner of disarray – unopened cardboard boxes on the floor and several used teabags lying on the work surface. Felipe nodded towards them.

"Lucy will be angry about those!"

Rob shot him a warning glare.

"You keep this to yourself." He switched the kettle on, popping two tablets from out of a blister pack of paracetamol that was lying on the table. "Paint's given me a headache," he explained, seeing Felipe's furrowed brow. "Make yourself useful eh, Felipe – there are mugs in the cupboard behind you. And don't be expecting proper espresso, either. I've only instant here while I'm decorating."

Felipe turned around and reached up to open the cupboard. Suddenly, a hand was covering his, holding it against the door. There was warm breath on his neck and a firm body tight against his back.

"You think I left because of _you_?" Rob pressed his lips to the back of Felipe's neck. "For information, you're the reason I stayed so long, you fucking idiot."

Felipe turned around, locking his arms around Rob's neck. Rob leant in, taking Felipe's bottom lip between his own and nipping it gently.

"I thought... " Felipe began, but Rob slipped his tongue in to silence him.

"Where's thinking ever gotten you, Philip?" Rob placed a kiss on Felipe's forehead before dragging his lips down onto the smaller man's earlobe. "I can't even imagine sitting on the pitwall and turning around to see someone other than you sitting in one of the cars..." 

He wrapped his arms around Felipe and gave a squeeze, enveloping the Brazilian's entire body. Felipe's lips touched his neck, and Rob planted a tender kiss onto the top of Felipe's head, his eyes closing as he gave a sigh.

"This is _deeply_ unprofessional, you know," he murmured.

 

**Bahrain 2014**  
Rob gripped each side of the white porcelain sink and took several deep breaths. It must have been the heat of the shower he had just taken that was making him so dizzy. Not to mention that the constant travelling and rushed meals of the Grand Prix lifestyle had left him feeling this unwell on several previous occasions.   
He rifled in Lucy's toiletry bag to see if she had any painkillers, but found nothing stronger than supermarket brand ibuprofen, and they'd be useless.  
"Just a headache," he mouthed to his reflection.

He picked up a towel and attempted to dry his shower-wet hair with minimal movement to his head. He could almost sense his brain rattling around inside as he did so. What he really needed was a good night's sleep, but that was impossible when his mind was awash with race strategies and stress that something would go wrong during a pitstop.

The doctor had originally told him that his migraines were probably a result of work-related stress, but Rob didn't buy that. He loved his job and thrived on it. If anything, sitting around doing nothing stressed him out more, like when he'd been on gardening leave before starting at Williams.

As he pulled on clean boxer shorts and a black t-shirt, he thought of his visit to the optician, who'd told him that his eyesight was fine and that he had to explore other reasons why he might be getting such regular headaches.

Lucy didn't know that his second visit to the doctor after that had led to all sorts of other questions. Rob had found himself sitting in a cold, bleak room talking about sporadic losses of concentration - when he'd find that he'd been sitting staring into space for what felt like only a few seconds but had in reality been minutes. He talked about how now and then, what he was eating didn't taste right; or he'd crave certain tastes or textures - usually pasta, but then having lived in Italy for a decade, that was hardly out of the ordinary, was it? And he'd hear things like people calling out when there was no-one else there, or get tunes in his head that he had never heard in his life.

"I don't feel like this in the UK," Rob had protested when they had told him they wanted him to go for tests. "It's only during race weekends, so... "

"You discounted the possibility of this being work-related quite early in our discussions, Mr Smedley," the doctor had shot back.

Rob sat back in his chair.

"Yeah I know, but... "

The doctor's brow furrowed.

"You're sure this doesn't happen at any other time? How about when you are in your office at work?"

"No," Rob replied with a shrug. There'd been one day when Felipe had come in for a chat after he was done with the simulator that Rob's temples had throbbed, but Rob had had a headache ALL of that week thanks to the intense post-testing debriefs he had had with Felipe and Valtteri immediately following Barcelona.

He'd ended up having tests done for mild epilepsy, which had been more than slightly terrifying. They'd come back negative, thankfully, but Rob still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something no doctor would be able to figure out. He'd started using the gym at Williams, which Felipe laughed about, and tried cutting out certain foods - sugar first, then wheat. Nothing made any difference. He'd even cut back on beer and cigarettes, or rather attempted to, with little success.

Rob was now going with the policy of trying to ignore all of it and hope he didn't have a tumour or something.

From the other side of the door, he heard Lucy calling him from their hotel room.

"Hurry up and come to bed."

Rob quickly brushed his teeth and tried to smile as he left the bathroom.

 

**Monza 2014**  
"Did you hear them? They were chanting your name," Rob exclaimed, slightly breathless from emotion, and the rush back from the podium to join the rest of the team outside the garage for the official photograph.

"I heard!" Felipe's face broke into an ecstatic grin.

Rob glanced around, then stroked Felipe's cheek quickly with a fingertip as they looked into one another's eyes. Felipe's were glowing happily, but he watched as Rob's began to slowly widen with something that seemed panicked, or as if some realisation was sweeping over him. Something that was making the top of his cheeks turn pink, and his brows knitted. 

The noise of a smoke bomb going off on the track distracted Rob from whatever was in his mind, and he and Felipe looked upwards as a plume of scarlet smoke billowed upwards into the sky.

"The fans here don't forget," Rob said firmly as he ruffled Felipe's hair. 

*

"You're so slow!"

"I've just scaled a fucking fence," Rob grumbled as he tried to keep up with Felipe, who was several feet ahead of him. He winced at a twinge in his calf. Fucking ligaments. "Missed my fucking flight for _this_?"

"So you get another one tomorrow," Felipe shrugged, darting ahead quickly as he walked from the racetrack to the old Monza banking.

Rob checked his phone, wincing guiltily as he read the good-natured 'YOU IDIOT' text message he'd gotten in reply to his confession – or rather, his lie – that he'd been waylaid after the race and wouldn't be making it back to the UK until the following day. But Felipe was very persuasive. Felipe and Monza - always an intoxicating combination. Rob liked to pride himself on being driven by his head. But sometimes, his heart spoke louder. It had practically roared right from his chest to his brain when Felipe had approached, his eyes twinkling, whispering in Rob's ear that there were unattended bottles of red wine in a box at the back of hospitality.

The two bottles they had stolen clinked in Felipe's small rucksack as they climbed to the top of the banking. Felipe did it with relative ease, throwing his head back in a laugh as he waited for a puffing and panting Rob to join him. Rob gave Felipe a small shove in the middle of his chest as he too reached the fencing. Rob was slightly relieved that it was dark, so Felipe wouldn't see properly how red his cheeks were with the exertion.

Rob sat down with a groan, leaning back on his hands as he got his breath back. His cheeks were still ruddy and his chest rose and fell. Felipe sat down beside him, hugging his knees to his chest, and they sat back in silence for a moment, looking up at the night sky. A light breeze shaking the trees was the only noise in this, the stillest of nights Rob had ever known.

"Feels like, if you really listened, you could still hear the cars going past here," he commented, still half-breathless. "Like it could be 80 years ago, not 2014."

Felipe raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. Rob tutted.

"Fucking wasted on you, I might have known."

He dug in his pocket for his cigarettes, and sighed happily as he lit one and took a long drag.

"That will help you get your breath back, huh?" Felipe chided.

"No, and it won't help the headache I've had all day either, but who cares. Shut up and get the booze out."

Rob watched as Felipe produced the two bottles, along with a corkscrew and white plastic cups.

"Since when have you been so organised?" Rob chuckled, holding a cup out and motioning for Felipe to keep going as he poured.

"The cups were for me, you know?" Felipe shot back. "I thought you'd just want to take from the bottle." He made a swigging motion.

Rob tutted. "I'll have you know that I'm a sophisticated gentleman. Hey, hey, hey, don't stop. Have to give me more than a mouthful, you know."

Felipe smirked and raised an eyebrow, and Rob felt the slightest of twitches between his legs. The booze, cigarettes, a race weekend done, and Felipe in this kind of flirty mood easily had him feeling... restless.

"Ey," Rob waggled his finger from side to side. "I'm up here with you for a drink, nothing more."

"So drink," Felipe shrugged, tapping his plastic glass against Rob's, and taking a large mouthful of wine.

"Mmm," Rob nodded. "Maybe not as good as the stuff we got at Ferrari, but... " he cocked his head to one side with a smile. "What's better wine when we have a car that's more reliable, eh?"

Felipe shook his head, but dipped his head down and allowed himself a small smile.

Rob lit another cigarette, draining his glass and re-filling it. Felipe loved to watch him get tipsy – the way his lips would stain, his face would flush, and his talking would become more rapid; curse words and jokey comments tumbling from his mouth.

"You did well today, lad. It's amazing what happens when you get past the first corner, isn't it."

"Fuck you!" Felipe retorted, but he smiled, his eyes creasing at the sides.

Rob choked on his wine as he gave a belly-laugh. When he calmed down, he lay back against the concrete, running a hand down Felipe's back.

"First podium of many, sunshine." His voice softened with affection. "You drove like I know you can, like I've always believed." 

Felipe turned his head to watch Rob momentarily. He was sleepy-eyed and his mood had been made more mellow by booze. Felipe couldn't help but lunge at him to steal a long, deep kiss.

"At least wait until I've finished my bottle," Rob mumbled through Felipe's lips, but his hands fell to his sides and he allowed Felipe to push him flatter against the asphalt. One of Felipe's legs found its way in between both of Rob's, and there was a sudden clattering noise as an empty bottle was kicked by one of them, sending it tumbling down to the bottom of the banking with a smash.

"It's okay, it's okay," Felipe whispered, leaning in and sliding his tongue against the top of Rob's collarbone. 

With their chests pressed together, Rob could feel the warmth of Felipe's body, the heat of his wine-kissed tongue against freckled skin. The heaviness of Felipe's thigh between Rob's legs started the tightening sensation in his balls, and he gave a soft moan as he felt himself begin to swell. Rob lifted his arms, placing them on the small of Felipe's back, then slid his hands downwards to cup the Brazilian's pert ass. Felipe jerked his hips at the initial sensation of Rob's touch, then did it again when Rob gave him a squeeze.

"D'you like that?" Rob breathed.

Felipe's mouth broke away from Rob's neck, and he lifted his head to smirk wickedly. 

"You shouldn't start things you're not prepared to finish, you know?"

The Brazilian tugged on the tufts of russet hair at the base of Rob's neck as he stole another kiss from the older man, breaking away only to give a sharp intake of breath as Rob's fingers travelled beneath the waistband of his blue jeans. Felipe felt those hands grip onto him, pulling his body closer until the barrier of denim between the two of them felt almost unbearable. He touched Rob's cheek as he kissed him, tasting wine and smoke, tastes that might seem unpleasant if he was kissing anyone else, but he wasn't. He was kissing Rob and he tasted divine; addictive. Gently, he moved so he was lying on top of Rob on the banking, taking the engineer's face in his hands for a second and looking into his eyes. In there he saw respect, love, friendship; years and years of it - and beyond even that.

"I heard them too, for information," Felipe blurted out.

"Heard what?" Rob's face was pink again, and Felipe could feel how hard he was against his thigh.

"The cars. From years ago."

All season Rob's brow had been furrowed with new responsibility; his eyebrows lowered in seriousness; but just for a moment, now that lifted, and he was as wide-eyed and young-looking as he had been that first day at Maranello when they had met. Before Rob hadn't had that little patch of grey at the back of his head, or before things at Ferrari hadn't dulled both their spirits.

"Fucking kiss me harder," was the gruff response.

"Hang on," Felipe panted, wriggling away from Rob's touch as he reached down to unbutton his jeans. He freed his swollen cock from his underwear before fumbling irritably at Rob's zipper.

"Felipe... we _can't_. Not here."

Felipe glanced around quickly. It was past 4am.

"There's nobody around. And it's so dark that even if there was, they wouldn't recognise us."

Rob gave an exasperated laugh.

"Yeah Felipe, you're right. No-one at Monza would recognise someone who was a Ferrari driver for ten years, even in the dark. Jesus."

Rob kept complaining sarcastically, all the while allowing Felipe to pull his dick from his boxers. Felipe's fingers brushed gently against its tip, and Rob's head fell back, his eyes closed and mouth open. That feeling of Felipe knowing his body so well, what he liked, what turned him on the most, was almost better than actually coming.

Felipe eased himself back down on top of the other man, placing his palms against the sloping ground and bucking his hips. His tongue darted out, swiping its way along the bottom of Rob's mouth until Rob caught it between his lips, sucking it gently. Thigh brushed against thigh, cock slid against cock. Soon there was no talking, just the noise of heavy breathing and the guttural moans of Felipe as he thrust his dick against Rob's hard-on, building up friction gradually until pre-cum made everything slippery, and the undersides of both their cocks slid against each others.

Rob froze for the briefest of moments when he thought he heard what sounded like a young boy laughing, but it disappeared as quickly as he had heard it, and he resumed lifting his hips upwards, his body pleading for some release. He reached a hand behind his head, grabbing onto the bottom of the fence. His thighs ached from trying to stay in the same position against the banking, and the muscles in his calves burned. Felipe wasn't heavy, but Rob became super-aware of the younger man's weight against him – the heat of his breath against Rob's neck and the tickle of the hair on Felipe's arms against his sides. His body couldn't take much more of staying in this position, and his balls and shaft ached with the need for a release, soon.

"Let me," he panted, reaching between them and taking both their cocks in his hand. "Fuck it," he gulped, encouraging Felipe to keep thrusting between his grip. He felt Felipe's erection pulsate against his own, and heard the little sharp moans Felipe always gave as he was about to come. The movement of the Brazilian's hard-on against his own became less rhythmic, and soon Felipe's cock was slipping in and out of Rob's grip, wildly uncontrolled. 

"Oh fuck," Felipe panted. "You feel so good. Fuck!" 

Felipe's voice was strangled as he gave a soft cry, and Rob felt sticky wetness on his splayed fingertips and inner thigh.

"Try to keep going, just for a second. _Please_ ," Rob pleaded breathlessly. Felipe gave a few erratic, shallow thrusts, but the sensation of the Brazilian's wasted cock slipping over the top of his own was just enough to send Rob over the edge. 

And when he came, everything and nothing rushed through his mind. 

_Red_. Blood and hurt. Anger and lust. 

Felipe's hands and mouth and heart and cock. 

Blackness. 

White noise. 

_I knew I would find you again._

Love.


	5. Chapter 5

~~~

"Last race," Rob said, his voice sounding choked. "Make it good one mate, okay?"

Felipe nodded, watching as Rob adjusted his headphones and leant into the car. He grabbed Felipe's hand and squeezed it. Hard. Felipe felt the heat of their hands pressed together, blood pulsating against blood. Years and years of it. 

Rob stood back, raising his palm to the left hand side of his chest. Slowly, he tapped it with his index finger three times. Their signal.

*tap*

_I_

*tap*

_love_

*tap* 

_you_

Felipe smiled and put his visor down.

~~~

**Botacatu, Brazil, 2062**  
_"I'm telling you that we shouldn't let him go. He's had a difficult enough time this past year, with losing mum and everything."_

Felipe sat in the chair beside his bed, staring out of the window. The voices from the living room came louder as his son and daughter argued.

"I know I'm old, but do they think I can't hear them?"

His granddaughter sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand over the top of his. A slender, cool palm pressed against his wrinkled, liver-spotted skin.

"Dad's just worried about you. Him and Aunt Ana. They're only arguing because they care."

Felipe took off his glasses and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I am NOT a child, Rafinha. It's not up to them to decide whether I go to the funeral or not."

He stared out of the window at the green, lush gardens of the large house he and Raffa had raised their two children in. She had been gone for almost eleven months now – even though every time he looked into the large, dark eyes of his granddaughter, he knew that she would never _really_ be gone. Rafinha was spirited, a little bit wild – too wild, Felipinho always said – although Felipe never took too long to point out that he had been exactly the same as his daughter when growing up. 

The voices started up again, and Felipe gave a long sigh as he heard his son and daughter trying to make the decisions that _he_ should be making.

"Rafinha?"

"Yes?"

"You have your phone?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Get it, will you."

Rafinha looked at him and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Felipe's mouth turned up at the side in a sly smirk.

Felipe turned towards her.

"Who convinced your dad to let you go racing, even though he was against the idea?"

"You did."

"That's right. Because you really, really wanted it."

"So?"

Felipe stood up on shaky legs.

"So book me a flight to England and if your dad doesn't like it, tough."

*

"Thank you for coming with me."

Felipe turned to look at Rafinha as she reversed the hire car out of the airport car park. 

"That's okay. Are you warm enough?"

Felipe pulled his scarf a little tighter around his neck and nodded.

"I'm fine."

Rafinha gave a shiver. 

"It won't be this cold when I come here for testing in January, will it?"

"Colder!" Felipe replied, wheezing as he laughed. "It's only October, you think it can't get colder than this over here. It will!"

Rafinha's top lip curled upwards in disgust. 

"Ugh! I cannot bear it!"

Felipe laughed again before laying his head back against the seat. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift off. He trusted Rafinha behind the wheel as she sped along the motorway, the car programmed to take them to their destination – North. She was a smooth driver, smart and intelligent; the skills that had gotten her into F1 the previous year. Now she was on the verge of her second season, and Felipe had never felt prouder. Felipinho had never made it further than the lower categories before starting his own karting school, but his daughter was special. Felipe would never tell her, but he saw in her the kind of ability that even he had never had.

She'd met Rob, once. She'd been a toddler at the time when Felipe and the rest of the family had gone to Monaco. Rob was in his last season before retiring completely, and they'd had a chat in the paddock, like they'd done so many times over the years, even before they had ever worked together. Rafinha had hid behind his legs when Rob had bent down to say hello.  
"Going to grow up to be a racing driver, this one," he'd grinned, and his eyes had crinkled up at the sides, thick grey hair flecked with gold from the sun behind them.

And now she was going to be at his funeral.

*

A sharp intake of breath as he'd seen Rob's name on the headstone had been the only outward show of emotion Felipe had allowed himself. He'd spent most of the time after the service shaking hands with old colleagues, even though most of the people he had been closest to in his racing days had long since passed away. And he could see in their faces that they were shocked he'd made the long journey there, just like his children had been when he'd said he'd wanted to go. It had been Felipinho that had taken the call from Frankie, Felipinho that had sat down sadly beside him and broken the news to him gently, as if he was a small child or an invalid. He was neither. He may have been rounder, balder, older - but his mind was still quick. Unfortunately that meant he still felt loss as sharply as he always had, and he wrinkled his nose as he attempted to stop the tears from falling as they walked out of the graveyard.

"I'm sorry," Rafinha said softly, as they got back into the car. 

Felipe put his seatbelt on, looking down at his white shirt and black tie, then out at the dispersing crowd as people left the graveside; black umbrellas going up as the rain began. 

"Do you want to go back to Frankie's house? He gave me directions."

Felipe shook his head. "Can we wait until everyone has left? I'd like to spend some time alone back out there."

"No problem."

They sat in peaceful silence, aside from the noise of Rafinha drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. She was always full of nervous energy.

"I'm really sorry," she repeated.

"For what?"

Rafinha bit her bottom lip. "Well, he was your friend."

"He was," Felipe nodded, before pausing to look back over at the spot where Rob had just been lowered into the ground. "This time around."

Rafinha had always been the one most like him in the family; the one he could see the most of himself in. And he trusted her, knew she wouldn't call him a fool or a deluded old man. And what did it matter now anyway? Rob was gone and he only had a limited amount of years left himself, he knew that. He'd kept it all in for all these decades, ever since the year after the accident when memories began to crop up in his mind - memories that he knew  _couldn't_  be his own. Not from this life.

"It started the year after the accident," Felipe began, his voice shaking slightly.

To his granddaughter, the accident was just something that was mentioned in passing every so often. Even her father hadn't been born when it had happened - to them, it was far removed from their lives. When her grandmother had been alive, she'd still gotten a little teary speaking about it, but Rafinha's only experience had been watching a video of it, and seeing the damaged, bloody helmet that as a child she had been ghoulishly fascinated with. She'd never known Felipe without the scar - it seemed perfectly normal.

"What did?" she asked. 

Felipe had a faraway expression and his hand kept going to his temple as he spoke, fingers tracing across the fine lines and indentations.  
　  
_"How have you been feeling, generally?"_

_"Fine," Felipe replied. "Completely fine." He sat back in the leather chair and crossed his legs. "In fact I don't really see the point of these check-ups anymore. I'm back racing, so... "_

_"It's purely precautionary," the doctor advised, looking down at her notes. "I only have a few more questions to ask, then you're free to go, okay?"_

_"Okay," Felipe agreed, a sulky tone in his voice. He hated coming here, to be asked the same things over and over. He felt fine. He **was**  fine. A year had passed now - how much more proof did they need that everything was alright?_

_He gave a string of 'No's' as he was asked if he had headaches, vision problems, mood swings, trouble sleeping..._

_The doctor snapped her notebook shut._

_"We're done. I know you think this is a waste of time Felipe, but it's absolutely crucial that we monitor people after they've had a head injury. Just because you don't have problems at the moment, we still need to keep an eye on you."_

_"I understand." Felipe stood up and glanced at his watch. He grinned. "Now probably isn't the best time to tell you that I've completely forgotten what time I arranged to meet my wife for lunch at."_

_"I think things like that are completely normal," the doctor smiled. "But if you have genuine memory loss Felipe, please don't hesitate to make an appointment to see me."_

_"Yeah, yeah," Felipe sighed. "If anything, the opposite has happened! I swear sometimes I remember things that I didn't even realise had happened in the first place."_

_He laughed, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but ever since that day at the Hungaroring when the sky had gone purple, his head had been swirling with faces, voices, towns he'd never seen before. He'd visit places and know what they had looked like before - like a double exposure of a photograph, almost._

_"And how often does this happen?" The doctor put on her glasses and retrieved her handbag from underneath her desk._

_It didn't happen all the time. Weeks or months could pass and Felipe's head would be as it always was. But it always happened when he was with Rob, or just about to see him - like how people got auras before taking a migraine. With him, the mere thought of being close to Rob would put odd memories into his mind - sometimes they looked like a black and white snapshot from the past, whereas sometimes  they were longer and felt like watching an old movie._

_Felipe's palms started to sweat. He didn't want to answer her. He was furious at himself for even saying anything - now for sure they were going to think he was crazy. He'd kept it to himself for over a year, and now he had blurted it out to the last person he should be telling? Idiot. Idiot!_

_"It... it only happens when I'm with one other person."_

_"And does it cause you any pain?"_

_He shook his head. "No, no. Not that I can remember, anyway. It's really no big deal, I mean, who knows what goes on in here, yes?" He tapped against his forehead with a finger and attempted to make his voice jovial, with little success._

_The doctor opened her bag, rifled through her purse and slid a business card out of one of the compartments. She handed it to Felipe, who visibly backed away._

_"You're not going to send me for tests again, are you?"_

_She smiled, but it didn't travel to her eyes._

_"Felipe, you're medically fine. But I really, really think you should speak to someone who has a little more expertees in these 'memories' you say you have."_

_"Another doctor?"_

_"No, he's not a doctor. But he does deal with people who have had head injuries and find themselves experiencing... shall we say, side effects outside of the norm."_

_She handed Felipe the card, and he stared at it briefly. Coloured pale blue, all it had was a telephone number and the name Francisco Nunes, with the words 'Cerebral Consolidation' underneath._

_"What does that mean?" Felipe frowned. He had no idea what either of those words were._

_"It means he can perhaps help you figure out why you have memories of things you don't believe happened to you. Or at least, not **you** as Felipe Massa." She lowered her voice. "I'd very much appreciate it if you kept this between you and I. I'm not supposed to pass this card to any patients – it's outside our usual realms of medicine. This just isn't the kind of thing I should be talking about."_

_Felipe's stomach lurched and he suddenly felt fearful of looking anywhere beyond what he had always believed to be true about his life._

　  
Rafinha grabbed Felipe's hand as he got out of the car. The icy rain had just about stopped, and the rest of the funeral party had gone to the wake.

"I can tell you're shocked," he said, as they trudged along the gravel path.

She shook her head. "Not shocked... well, maybe a little. But that doesn't mean I don't believe you."

"Thank you."

They stopped at the grave, and Felipe put his hand on top of the headstone, staring at Rob's name etched into the marble.

"How long did you go to see that man for?" Rafinha asked.

Felipe shut his eyes momentarily as he tried to recall that far back.

"Over a year, I suppose. Maybe even almost two. Mostly, he just listened to me - the things I was remembering, or thinking. Sounds and smells that were triggering some response from inside me... visions that were flashing behind my eyes. He helped me understand that I wasn't going insane."

Rafinha sucked on her bottom lip momentarily.

"But... and don't take this the wrong way – if you weren't going insane, what the fuck was it?"

Felipe gave a quick shrug. It had been years – _decades_ – since this had happened, and time had faded everything that Francisco had attempted to explain to him. It had been so long ago that sometimes it felt like a dream.

"He said that sometimes, after an injury like the one I got in Hungary, the mind could get... _changed_ , like it had been given a jolt or an electric shock - which made it work differently than other peoples' did."

"Shit," Rafinha exhaled.

Felipe's eyes widened with humour.

"Yes. Shit!"

Rafinha gestured towards the grave.

"What about Rob?"

Felipe laughed. Laughed, because it was either that, or sob.

"He always said my mind didn't work like anyone else's he'd ever met anyway."

Felipe was half-scared to tell her that all of his past memories were _with_ Rob, _of_ Rob, _because_ of Rob; that meeting Rob for the first time in this lifetime had set off something in both of them that had led to everything that had happened afterwards - the accident, the move to another team, the unbreakable bond that had been forged between them all those years ago. 

"Rob never found out that I was speaking to someone about all of it. But we knew, you know? We both _knew_ that there was something between us. Something more than a regular working relationship. He just didn't realise how far back it went."

Felipe stifled a sob as he remembered being wrapped in Rob's embrace that strange day of the 2012 Brazilian GP, when all of the things he had been feeling and seeing had suddenly overwhelmed him, and he had cried on the podium, memories rushing through his very being as he'd stood above the crowd, feeling the senses of loss, grief, happiness and passion of _all_ the lifetimes they had shared together. 

And Rob had _felt_ it, just in different ways. Smaller ways – he'd not suffered a head trauma like Felipe had after all, but their relationship had affected him too, even if he himself hadn't been aware of it. Sensory memory, Francisco had called it – like a touch or a smell. How many times had Rob had headaches at places that were significant to them, like Hungary? On how many nights had he told Felipe how hot his skin was, how his touch felt like an electric shock? And that nausea he had had that day they had met properly for the first time? Francisco said it was all related to what Felipe was going through too. It had just manifested itself differently with the Englishman. 

He bent down, placing a kiss against Rob's name. The granite was cold and unforgiving against his lips.

"I knew him many times over," Felipe said, more to himself than Rafinha. "But this life was the one I liked the most."

"Why?"

Felipe's voice broke as he answered.

"Because sometimes people are put on this earth at the same time for a reason. Put on this earth simply to know one another. And _this_ time... this time around was the longest we had ever spent together." 

*

Frankie's house was full to the brim with family members, friends, and ex-colleagues of Rob's. Felipe felt slightly overwhelmed, but tried to hide it. He suspected that he was the oldest person there – anyone from their generation of F1 was either gone, or too infirm to travel. Rafinha made sure that he was given a chair, and people were only too happy to cater to the wishes of this young, famous, talented racing driver. 

Felipe sipped at a cup of tea that had been thrust into his hand. What was it about British people and their tea? Even at Williams he had never gotten used to it, and he allowed himself a winsome smile as he recalled how Rob had so often slurped from a large mug in Grove, shaking his head happily as he'd remarked that he'd never gotten a decent 'cuppa' back in Italy. 

He looked around for somewhere to set his still-full cup down, but decided against risking spilling it all over the cream carpet of Frankie's large living room. He sighed, staring out of the large patio windows to the expansive garden beyond. He'd never set foot in this house before, but he could easily imagine Rob helping out with watering the flowerbeds, or cultivating tomato plants like he had back in the old house near Maranello.

He looked around as he heard an old tune from the 2010s playing.

_Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof_

Honestly, this younger generation and their retro ringtones. Felipe couldn't imagine himself ever having a ringtone from the 1960s when he was Rafinha's age, but then what did he know about the youth of today?

"Fuck," his granddaughter hissed. Felipe loved that she was a prolific swearer; even if she only showed that side of herself in front of the one person she trusted the most – him. "It's my engineer fucking bothering me. Pffff! Did Rob fucking call you all the time like this too?!"

With a swish of her long hair, she flounced into the garden to take the call. Felipe hissed through his teeth a little, hoping no-one had been offended by her mention of Rob.

"My little grandson's thrilled that Rafinha Massa is here – he's a massive fan."

Felipe looked up to see Frankie smiling down at him.

"Here – thought you might prefer coffee."

Felipe accepted the cup gratefully, nodding a thank you.

"I hope she's at least signed some autographs for him, in that case."

"She has. She's been extremely kind."

Frankie lowered himself down to Felipe's level, and Felipe tried not to feel annoyed or patronised. After all, he remembered this 50-something year old man beside him being born. 

"I'm really, really glad you were able to come, Felipe. I'd thought maybe you wouldn't be able to make it."

"Well – I would hope that your dad would have come to Brazil for me, if I'd gone first."

Frankie's face fell into a solemn expression.

"Yes. Yes he would have."

Frankie – or Frank as Felipe heard people calling him – was so like Rob that it left Felipe almost breathless. Once-auburn hair that was now almost entirely grey; a wry smile, and there was something about the 'Errms' that punctuated the beginning of every sentence that made Felipe's chest tighten. He wasn't as tall as Rob had been, but the pale skin and blue eyes were exactly the same.

"Sorry," Felipe offered, aware that he had been staring at Rob's son for a little too long. "It's just that you're so much like him, you know?"

Frankie tilted his head to one side, smiling.

"So everyone's been telling me today." He chuckled. "Dad always said that that's why I'm so devilishly handsome."

"Yeah, that sounds like Rob."

Felipe glanced over at the many family photographs adorning the walls in Frankie's living room. There was one of Frankie as a child, wearing a Williams baseball cap; Rob standing proudly behind him in his white team shirt. Beside that was a more recent one of Rob sitting on a chair in his study. His hair and beard were an untidy shock of white, but he was neatly dressed and smiling. Behind him were pictures of the cars he had engineered, and when Felipe peered closer, he could see his yellow and green helmet in several of them.

"When was that taken?"

"About three or four months ago, I guess," Frankie replied. "He spent most of his time in his study after mum died. He said he was doing research. I thought maybe he was doing our family tree, but there's nothing in there to suggest that, so... " Frankie shrugged his shoulders. "Did he say anything to you about it the last time you spoke on the telephone?"

Felipe shook his head. 

"No. We spoke about Rafinha's career, that was all. He did not say anything about what he was doing. In fact, he wanted to get off the telephone pretty quickly as he said he was in the middle of reading a very interesting book." Felipe laughed croakily. "So I told him to fuck off, then. That was the last thing I ever said to him. Fuck off."

Frankie bent over double with laughter.

"I think he'd have appreciated that very much, Felipe."

He paused.

"Actually, I have something to give to you. I was planning to wait until it was quieter, but now's as good a time as any. Excuse me for a second."

Felipe looked out of the window at Rafinha as he waited for Frankie to return. She was chatting to a man not much older than her, her head thrown back with laughter. The man was gesticulating wildly with his hands, clearly telling some anecdote or joke that had her in hysterics. 

"My nephew's trying to charm your granddaughter, I see. They're probably about the same age," Frankie commented as he returned. "Another generation of Massas and Smedleys."

When Felipe didn't respond, he held a book out, noticing how Felipe's wizened hand quivered as he reached out to accept it. It was a hardback, with a black and white photograph on the front. 

"This was on Dad's desk," Frankie explained. "It's about Italy during the Second World War. Had you ever spoken about that with him?"

Felipe shook his head. Suddenly he felt very unwell, and he wondered if it was his heart.

"No. Why do you ask?"

Frankie ran a hand through his thick grey hair.

"He seemed to become obsessed with it during the past few months. Ordering books online, talking to people on Skype in Italian. I didn't even think he was still able to speak it." Frankie's voice broke a little, and Felipe pretended not to notice when he wiped a tear from his eye. "There were dozens of books about it in his study. Dad was still old school – I told him he didn't need to order physical books these days, but... I don't know. I just let him get on with it. I hadn't seen him take such an interest in anything since he retired from F1."

"Anyway," Frankie sighed. "This was the book that he seemed to focus on the most. When I was going through his things yesterday, I saw that there was an envelope with your name on it tucked into the front cover. And something just tells me he would want you to have the book as well. Don't ask me why I have that feeling, I just do. Probably just grief making me think a load of shit." Frankie stopped babbling, watching as Felipe's rheumy eyes began to redden. "Felipe, do you want me to leave you?"

"Please. Thank you, Frankie."

Felipe waited for Rob's son to walk away before he opened the cover of the book. Inside he found a plain white envelope with his name on it, and recognised Rob's messy handwriting immediately. His hands shook even more than they normally did these days as he fiddled with the envelope and pulled out the sheet of notepaper that was inside.

_Felipe,_

_Appropriately enough, I think you should take a look at page 19. And then wonder why, despite all the things we used to tell one another, we could never talk about this._

_Your mate,  
Rob_

Bile rose up in Felipe's throat as he flicked through the book to find the right page. On it, there was a black and white photo of a class of school-children. The caption at the bottom showed that it had been taken in 1940. He surveyed the row of glum, haunted-looking faces; the wide-eyed stares and lack of smiles. He felt a sharp pain shoot down his left arm as he saw that two of the boys in the front row had been circled with a thick red marker. One was small and had a downturned, pouting mouth. The other was taller, paler, and had lighter hair. They were holding hands.

As Felipe began to cry, the only thing he was aware of was the sound of Rafinha screaming for someone to call an ambulance.

~~~

 

"It's just he always seems so sad. Like he's missing something... or someone, I don't know." She gave a wan smile. She was tired, so tired of worrying about the child, of wondering how she could ever make her little son smile. In 4 years she didn't think she'd heard him laugh once. That couldn't be normal, could it? For a child to look so haunted? Even behind his eyes he seemed sad – old, even. He would say sometimes that his temple hurt, but they had taken him for for tests and the doctors had found nothing. 

One of the child psychologists had suggested a pet. Pets, she had said, could sometimes bring children out of their shell. 

A breeder who lived nearby had a new litter of puppies. The boy had been allowed to choose which one he wanted. He'd pointed and nodded at one of them, looking as interested as he had been in anything so far in his short life.

"Strange looking thing," the breeder said with a shake of his head. "That one's a strange puppy overall, the oddest one of the lot. Been cowering at the back every time someone comes to visit. Never seen him react like this before."

The puppy jumped at the side of the crate, squealing and whimpering loudly.

"Strange looking thing," the breeder repeated. 

"I want this one," the child said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It's just... the other puppies are a bit cuter, aren't they?"

"No. This one!"

She looked at the litter. They were almost all chubby, fat-faced and dark-eyed little puppies. But yet her son had picked the noisiest and gangliest of the bunch, all long legs and unruly tufts of russet hair.

"Okay then," she smiled, relenting and giving a nod to the breeder. "We'll take him."

She paused.

"I've never seen a red setter puppy with blue eyes before."

~~~

_Rob cleared his throat and slung an arm across the back of the sofa. He looked down at the blue of the Mediterranean Sea below the hotel, then back at Felipe. Simon gave a reassuring nod, motioning for him to begin._

_Rob smiled at his driver and friend._

_"Do you remember when we first met?"_

_Felipe gave a small nod._

_"Yes. I remember very well."_


End file.
